


family is a blessing (lock up the knives)

by Nemainofthewater



Series: the umbrella academy AU (because who says I can't love two things at once) [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: AU-Umbrella Academy Fusion, Apocalypse, Bad Parenting, Death, Don't copy to another site, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Magic, pre-story character death, spoilers for both tv series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-26 02:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: December 19th, 1992. Forty-three women around the world gave birth simultaneously despite not having been pregnant that morning. Seven of the children are adopted by eccentric billionaire Martin Chatwin and turned into the superhero team 'the Brakebills Academy'.However, when their father dies, they reunite at his funeral and learn that they have only eight days to stop the apocalypse.Umbrella Academy fusion.





	1. Chapter 1

On December 16th1992, forty-three women around the world gave birth at the exact same moment. Why, one may ask, is this a noteworthy event? Surely many hundreds, if not thousands or millions of women are giving birth at any given moment. Statistically speaking, it would be more unusual for no women to be giving birth.

 

Ah, but you see prior to that traumatic moment none of them had been pregnant: it was an epidemic of virgin births, the like of which hadn’t been seen since Jesus. Or Anakin Skywalker. The children born in that moment were special: they had magic.

 

Martin Chatwin, an eccentric billionaire, resolved to adopt as many as possible to form the elite crime-fighting team the ‘Brakebills Academy’. He managed to get seven of them. Seven magicians. Seven young minds to mould. To educate. To break. Because it turned out that Martin Chatwin was not the best of fathers, and each member of the erstwhile crime-fighting family ended up broken in their own way.

 

Eschewing all forms of contact not related to their studies or their training, he assigned them numbers in lieu of names and left the actual raising of them to Fogg, a hyperintelligent and long-suffering chimp whose mind he had artificially augmented, and Jane, a robot mother, nanny and nurse rolled into one whom he had based on his estranged sister as a final ‘take-that’. Eventually, on their tenth birthday, Jane gave them names.

 

As each of them grew older, they began to develop their own specialised form of magic, which Martin encouraged in every way possible. After all, as he discovered, magic is pain.

 

Number One, Alice, was a bright and powerful child. Although slight in frame, she was able to use her magic to augment her strength so that she became super-strong. Although she had one of the keenest minds in the family, after The Incident she left to guard the Ancient repositories of knowledge hidden in the wildest depths of Canada and disguised as a second-hand bookshop.

 

Kady was Number Two, a fact that Alice never let her forget. Her proficiency was with Battle Magic, although she was equally talented in the ancient art of Punching-people-most-often-Alice. Her favourite weapons were her knives and she always had at least three on her at any given times. As a child she knew that she wanted to protect people, to see injustice in the world and correct it as true superheroes do. She was quickly disillusioned.

 

Margo was perhaps one of the most memorable of the Chatwin siblings, a fact that pleased her to no end. By staring into her eyes, so innocent and doe-like that her brother granted her the moniker ‘Bambi’ age seven, she was able to compel people into doing what she wanted. Needless to say that ability served her well when she moved to the West Coast to become a star, finding the false-idolatry of millions of fans easier to obtain than a genuine compliment from their father.

 

Fundamentally Eliot was telekinetic. That’s what he liked to tell people his powers were. But really, what he could do was see ghosts. An ability that he learnt of when, age fourteen, he killed Logan Kinnear their then-housekeeper’s son whose bullying tendencies were not only known to Martin Chatwin but encouraged. It was only after Eliot had inadvertently smashed the heavy chandelier in the front hall into Logan Kinnear that he started to see the dead, chief among them the bloody form of Logan. He quickly sank into the drugs and the drink to escape them and never climbed back out.

 

Penny… well Penny was always contrary. He was the only one of the siblings to name himself, scornfully rejecting the offered ‘William’ from Jane and renaming himself Penny after the penny arcade that they sometimes sneaked out to. He only realised later that it was predominantly a girl’s name, but by then it was too late. In any case, the laughter didn’t last for long as his ability to Travel meant that nobody in the house was safe from swift retribution. He disappeared age thirteen and never came back: Kady likes to think that he got and was living the high life in Australia somewhere.

 

Quentin…Poor Quentin. Obsessed with his fantasy tales, he longed to withdraw into obscurity. But he couldn’t. Because he was Their host. He called them Fillorians after characters in his books but the rest of the world called them horrors. Eldritch monsters. Lovecraftian menaces. And apart from a very small subset of the population who sent him erotic letters, the generally population was happy enough to condemn him for his power. He didn’t last to adulthood, and perhaps, were some of the family asked, they would say that was for the best. Quentin included. Eliot would argue against it, but as Eliot would often make these arguments to thin air no one paid him any mind.

 

Finally, Julia. Number Seven, the last and least as classified by their father. With no powers of her own she often felt like an outcast among the family, forced to watch from the sidelines as her siblings engaged in their own heroics. When she was young and less cynical, she would dream of escaping to a foreign land with Quentin, her co-conspirator, and Penny, their method of transport. Perhaps one day the three of them would slip sideways into an alternate world where all of her family could be happy and together, and she could be included. When Penny disappeared and Quentin died, the dream died with them. She retreated into her room and her music, the eerie strains of the violin echoing through the house until late at night.

 

With such a violent and messed-up childhood, it’s unsurprising that most of the Chatwins got out as soon as they could, slipping off one by one and never looking back.

 

They escaped into the real world and tried to make lives for themselves, always haunted by the spectre of their childhood (literally in Eliot’s case).

 

But then… Then Martin Chatwin died. And as one by one the five survivors learnt of his demise they realised: they would have to return. Back to the Academy. At least one last time. And so they did.

 

What they didn’t realise: they would have to band together to survive. Because, unbeknownst to all but one of them, the apocalypse was coming. And they had to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

“What does one wear when attending the funeral of one’s abusive father?” Eliot asked, picking up another vest. He scrutinised it carefully, then snorted and threw it to the floor.

 

“Too nice,” he said, “I wouldn’t want to give the old man the satisfaction. Unless…”

 

He turned toward Quentin, perched in the corner of the room (as always).

 

“What do you think Q? Should I go for the rags as a final fuck you or should I get dressed up to commemorate this glorious day?”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes.

 

“I don’t know why you keep asking me,” he complained, “It’s not like I know anything about fashion.”

 

“True, you are sadly deficient in that area. Shame on you Quentin, after all these years tagging along after me, I would have expected you to have picked up something. Even if you’ll never attain my sartorial heights.”

 

“It’s not like I had a choice,” Quentin complained, unconvincingly.

 

“Still talking to yourself?”

 

Eliot turned around.

 

“Fen!” he cried with glee. He launched himself toward her with glee, enfolding her in a hug.

 

“It’s good to see you Eliot,” she said, squeezing him back. “Now, are you ready to get to the airport yet? The plane’s due to leave in a couple of hours.”

 

“No,” said Eliot, “I haven’t finished packing yet. Quentin is being extremely unhelpful.”

 

“Oh,” said Fen, “Is Quentin here? Hi Quentin.” She gave a small wave toward the left-hand wall. In his corner on the other side of the room, Quentin rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to move.

 

There was something in her eyes that looks like pity. Eliot tried not to notice, fluttering back to his open suitcase.

 

“What do you think Fen?” he asked, “Black tie celebration or more beggars at the feast?”

 

“Black tie,” she said decisively, “It’s not like your casual clothes are that different from your good clothes anyway. People may not be able to tell the difference. Not unless you want to stop off at a charity shop and pick up some graphic tees or something on the way to the airport.”

 

Eliot shuddered.

 

“What a monstrous thought,” he said, “Glad rags it is.”

 

“Here,” said Fen, “I’ll help you pack. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”

 

“You’re too good to me Fen,” Eliot said, blowing a kiss in her direction.

 

“She really is,” Quentin said.

 

“Hush you,” Eliot said, wagging his finger at Quentin. He turned to his wardrobe and started pulling out clothes for Fen to fold and place in the case, which she did neatly enough (although Eliot winced at some of the creases).

 

As she placed the first set of clothes in the case there was a rustle. Eliot started forward, an abortive movement, as Fen pulled out a bag full of pills.

 

“Oops,” said Quentin, “Looks like you’ve been rumbled.”

 

“Shut up Q,” Eliot hissed, “You’re not helping.”

 

“Eliot,” said Fen, her big mournful eyes looking up at him, “You shouldn’t be taking drugs. Not ever and especially not when you’ve just got out of rehab. Margo wouldn’t-”

 

“If Margo wants to say something than she should say it to my face,” Eliot snapped, “I haven’t seen her in five years, so evidentially she doesn’t care that much.”

 

Fen looked even more hurt, if such a thing were possible. Eliot abruptly felt as if he had kicked a puppy. A small one. A small, fluffy, three-legged puppy.

 

“Ouch,” said Quentin, “Nice going asshole.”

 

“She’s just busy,” Fen said, “Anyway you’re going to see her this evening.”

 

“This evening?” Eliot asked, “You mean we’re not on the same flight?”

 

Fen bit her lip. “She wanted to,” she said weakly, “But she’s busy filming at the moment. She’s borrowing Angelina Jolie’s private jet and flying in after filming wraps.”

 

“How convenient,” Eliot said, “And that has nothing to do with not wanting to share a plane with her embarrassing, junkie brother?”

 

“You shouldn’t be so hard on Margo,” Quentin said, coming to stand at Eliot’s side, “You know that she loves you. Why the hell would she be paying for this apartment otherwise?”

 

“Guilt, pure and simple.”

 

“Sorry?” said Fen.

 

“I’m not talking to you,” Eliot snapped.

 

“You have to know how hard it is,” Quentin continued, “Seeing you self-destruct like this. I mean, it’s hard for me and I can see the ghosts. God, whenever I see you OD…”

 

“I would have thought you’d be glad Quentin. At least that way you wouldn’t have to be chained to a self-destructive asshole like me.”

 

“Stop twisting my words!”

 

“No. You know what? It’s fine. I know what everyone thinks of me. And far be it from me to disappoint them.”

 

Eliot snatched the bag of pills from Fen, opened it and swallowed two in one, quick, motion.

 

“Eliot!”

 

Two concerned voices rang out, overlapping. Eliot ignored them. He tossed the rest of pills back into the suitcase and slammed it closed.

 

“Right,” he said, “Are we going or what? I don’t particularly care either way, but I would hate for you to lose your job Fen.”

 

“That’s not why I-”

 

“Save it.”

 

And then Eliot swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He knew it was childish and ultimately futile: Quentin and no choice but to follow him and Fen wouldn’t let him out of her sight. Not after overdose number 3.

 

“Well,” he sighed to himself, thinking of the absolute agony of the next week or so. Thought of the judging stares of his siblings, the oppressive feel of the house. The empty space where his friendship and love for Margo used to live before it was replaced with guilt and duty, “This’ll be fun.”


End file.
